


Fluff Prompts (November '16)

by Lyonface



Series: Prompt Fills and Flash Fiction [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Hannibal (TV), Multi-Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cheers!AU, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyonface/pseuds/Lyonface
Summary: Various cuddle/fluff prompts requested and written from my followers and patrons. Lots of cute fluff with Dragon Age: Inquisition characters and dark!fluff for Hannigram.





	1. Warmer if We Cuddle Together // Senris

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first prompt fill to celebrate my starting the patreon/trying to give people a fluffy distraction from the insanity that was this year's presidential election.

**(“It’ll be warmer if we cuddle together….” senris)**

 

This is considered part of the Tattoo Artist!AU I started in [No More Games](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6749077).

\----

Of course it would be his luck that the heater would break in his apartment on one of the coldest nights in Kirkwall’s history.

Fenris shuddered and pulled the knitted throw more tightly around his shoulders as he glanced from the old film on television to look outside. For as cold as it was, he always imagined that the chill would bring snow. He hadn’t really seen any snow when he was in Tevinter, and certainly not in Seheron. It never got cold that far north for it to do anything other than rain or hail, but the further south he went the colder it got. It seemed silly now to associate the cold with snow, but he couldn’t help but be disappointed at the lack of activity outside.

“Would you like to go outside?” came Solas’s teasing voice as he rounded the divider between Fenris’s kitchen and his open living room, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

Fenris scoffed and looked back at the television as Solas made his way to the sturdy, wide sofa and sat down beside him, offering the cup with Varric’s newspaper logo slapped on the side. Fenris looked between the cups for a moment.

“Not too sweet,” Solas assured him and the tattooed elf nodded and took the offer with gratitude. He tasted it to test the heat and was greeted by the pleasant mixture of coffee and sugar that he preferred. Solas had finally gotten the hang of it.

“I don’t know how you drink that,” Fenris grumbled, shooting a look at Solas’s cup. He was using the mug he always did when he came over, the one with a faded flower print along the rim and the bottom. He couldn’t remember where he’d gotten it from, but most of the things in his apartment were flea market finds and hand-me-downs from friends. 

Solas smiled, taking a sip of his sweet concoction. “It is an acquired taste.” He glanced at Fenris, observing the blanket piled on to his shoulders with thinly veiled amusement, “As is the cold, it would seem.”

He scoffed again, holding the cup close as he looked back at the television. He’d never seen this film before, but he hadn’t watched many old movies to begin with. He didn’t have access to them growing up, but now that he was a Kirkwall citizen, he was finally starting to get a feel for his favorites in things. Solas seemed to prefer older movies, but he was more than happy to oblige when they were interesting.

He frowned as the main character swept his love interest off of her feet and kissed her. “As is his taste in women, it would seem.”

Solas hummed thoughtfully, “Why do you think so?”

“She spent the entire first half being an arrogant bitch and the second half pandering to the corrupt lawyer.”

“She did have her motivations.”

“Good intentions with poor decisions are still poor decisions,” Fenris retorted, pausing to take a sip.

Solas considered for a moment, canting his head as he looked back at the screen. “She had his best interest at heart.”

Fenris shot him a dubious look and the elf took a gentle sip before elaborating, bringing the lip of the cup to hover close to his mouth. “Despite his corruption, the lawyer was known for being influential and winning cases no matter how they were stacked against him. Even with her character flaws and poor reasoning, she wanted to exonerate the man she loved.”

“Using that lawyer only hurt his case,” Fenris grumbled as the couple entered an old automobile with the sun roof down, as cheerful as can be. He lifted her by her slender form and plopped her into the passenger seat and she giggled while holding her hands to cover her face. “He had to overcome more obstacles because of her involvement.”

“And still he loved her all the same because he saw her intentions.”

Fenris shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around him, shrugging. He couldn’t argue that her desires were plain, and there is something in admiring someone for that alone.

He glanced at Solas as he purposefully put his arm up over the top of the back of the couch, offering the invitation for warmth. He smiled with a sigh and moved over to lean against him, immediately feeling the warmth of him. How he could be so warm when it was so cold was beyond him.

He raised the coffee to his lips as the couple drove away and the scene faded to the ending card. “Fools rush in,” he murmured.

Solas paused for a moment, “Where wise men never go.”

Fenris chuckled and Solas shifted to look down at him. “Am I mistaken in the lyric?” he asked, curious but amused.

Fenris turned to look at him, a bit of his hair falling in his eyes as he did. “So here I am,” he answered.

Solas grazed his teeth over his lower lip before leaning in for a short, chaste kiss. “I prefer the message from the other song, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

He received a thoughtful hum and head on his shoulder for his answer. “I’m simply glad it isn’t the case,” Fenris said..

Solas smiled softly to himself as he brought his hand around from the back of the couch, brushing the hair out of Fenris’s eyes as the next film began. “As am I.”


	2. A Little Cuddling Won't Kill You // Solabull

**(“A little cuddling won’t kill you, I promise.” Solabull.)**

\---

He was beginning to suspect the Inquisitor of being purposeful in how often the tent situation seemed to slip his mind. For the last three trips from Skyhold that Solas had accompanied him on, two things always seemed to happen. The first is that Iron Bull was always with them. The second is that they were always miraculously short a tent.

He used to protest when the Inquisitor would shrug his big shoulders and say something to the affect of, “Well sorry Solas I can’t just make one out of thin air,” or, “Well we’ll just have to make due until we can get a spare.” There were never spares, Solas decided, and there would never _be_ any spares.

This was a set up, one he was keenly aware of and was not inclined to play. Not by someone else’s rules.

“Awh c’mon, don’t be like that,” Bull told him through the chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest. “It’s wet and cold, so pretending you’re not miserable is really just a waste of time, Solas.”

The hedge mage laid on his side on his bedroll, eyes closed in another failed attempt to drift to sleep. The elf shot him a irritated look, blue eyes flashing with a disapproval and answered, “I lived much of the last few years in the forest on my own. I believe I can handle a bit of inclement weather.”

He laughed, sprawled out on a bedroll that was just slightly too small for him. The bunching of his cheek pushed at his eye patch. “Solas, give me some credit here.”

His blue eyes shut for a moment as Solas collected himself, irritated and put off by the man’s insistence that he lay beside him. He was perceptive, certainly, but that meant little when it came to their disagreements. If anything, their mutual stubbornness only served to escalate their individual irritations. Despite how well they had been getting along lately, suspiciously well, that fact remained.

After a moment, he said “I give you enough credit, I should think.”

He received a hum in response, “Mm-hmm, that must be why you’re practically painted on the side of the tent right now.”

Auburn eyebrows crooked in mild defiance even as he moved his body slightly closer and away from the side of the tent that was being pelted by sheets of rain. Before the smirk on the qunari’s face could grow, he said, “I respect you, Bull. Do not make this into something it is not.”

Big gray hands came up in a defensive gesture, the man nodding his head as he rolled on to his back, angling his neck so that his horns didn’t clip the ground as he did. “All right, Solas, we’ll play it your way," he replied.

The elf scoffed vaguely, feeling a strange mix of exasperation and gratitude for a more subdued brand of persistence. “You are simply biding your time.”

He saw the teeth in his smirk that time, “I can play the long game too.”


	3. You are ridiculously comfortable // Galenris

**(Galenris: “You are ridiculously comfortable..")**

Galaren's writer and I came up with a Modern!AU that consisted of Galaren being a bartender at a pub that Fenris, a construction worker helping to rebuild the town of Haven, frequents. I tell you this because this AU will be recurring. :)

\----

The car rocked gently and Fenris turned back towards the back of the car from the passenger’s seat. The alcohol was still stirring around in his mind and he hadn’t been in any good place to drive, but the cute bartender where he frequented was a nice guy and offered to give him a ride once his shift ended. They had quickly gotten on a first name basis, and Varric had had know qualms about ribbing Fenris about their quick friendship. _Puppy eyes_ he’d called it, as if that phrase hadn’t haunted him enough.

Unfortunately, it seems that the night had plans other than getting him to his bed at a semi-reasonable hour that night. If the thunk, which was most likely a frustrated kick, was anything to show for it.

Over the rambunctious punk music playing at low volume, he heard a curse and a loud groan before approaching footsteps. Galaren opened the driver’s side door and sat back down, running a hand over his hair, pulled back in a short ponytail.

After a moment, Fenris broke the silence. “Flat tire?”

He scoffed, “If only. I think it’s the suspension.”

He winced, recalling a hard thump as they had been coming down the highway.  
  
 “I guess it was…whatever that was.”

“Yeah.”

They sat awkwardly for a moment before Galaren piped up. “Listen, I’ll call around for a tow truck, yeah?”

Fenris frowned, “It’s…” he paused to turn and squint at the numbers on his dashboard, “It’s half past two.”

He looked mildly offended, “I know that, Fenris. I can leave a message. I have some stuff in the trunk if you want to look through it while I call, okay?”

He nodded hazily as Galaren gave him a quick nod and got back out of the car. He heard and felt a low _thunk_ from further back on the car and took a breath, opening the door, and stepping out into the cool autumn evening. The temperature was enough to wake him somewhat, but he knew it wouldn’t last long.

Taking the opportunity of higher sobriety, he pushed open the trunk to find it chock filled with…stuff. After a moment of realizing the trunk light wasn’t going to turn on, he pulled out his phone and used the light of the screen to look around, pushing away boxes and bags to try and find a blanket or pillow or...something.

He pulled out a pillow in a pillow case that likely had been sitting back here for a long time and was about to give up when he saw Galaren come to stand beside him, putting his phone in his jacket pocket.

“Having trouble, mate?” he asked, grinning.

Fenris grasped the pillow and held it close to him, “I can’t find the blanket.”

He frowned and leaned over, shoving the random assortment of things around with far less care than Fenris had. The elf decided to step back and put his own light away, wrapping his arms around the pillow as he held it close to him, resting his chin on top of it. As Galaren leaned awkwardly towards a corner compartment, examining it before pulling at it, Fenris’s eyes wandered over his body, still used to only being able to see him from about chest up.

“Ah! Here it is,” he said, retrieving the blanket from being cramped inside one of the compartments on the side.

Fenris jumped and looked away as if he were caught staring, turning to look down the barren road, illuminated by street lamps and the light pollution of the city.

“Here,” he said. Fenris turned and nearly jumped again when he felt the blanket being pressed against his hands. At a confused look, Galaren shifted from one foot to the other. “You can sleep in the back seat. I’ll take the front.” He gestured to the car, the back seat already pulled down, “It’s pretty comfortable, I promise.”

It took a moment for him to realize what he said. “Wait, that’s–”

Galaren turned to him as he was about to shut the trunk. He was clearly surprised, but there was an expectant shift to the line of his shoulders.

A moment of silence passed before Fenris continued, “That’s not necessary.”

Another moment passed and Galaren forced a chuckle, turning to shut the trunk, “You, uh…um, you sure about that?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate that time.

“Well,” he said, slamming the trunk shut, “I’d be happy to oblige. Since you’re comfortable, I mean, of course.” He glanced at Fenris as the elf gripped the blanket and pillow before looking away again, turning to busy himself with opening the back side door, “Not that I’m only saying yes because you said it, you’re not forcing me, it’s just–”

“Galaren.”

He took a breath and rubbed at his face, embarrassed, “Sorry.”

Fenris chuckled and Galaren grinned in answer. “You don’t need to be nervous, Galaren. I like you.”

A curious look swept over the other man’s face before he cleared his throat and gestured vaguely into the car, reaching back to undo the tie in his hair, fluffing out the wavy curls once they’d come loose.

It took very little time for them to get situated, shoes kicked off, jackets used as extra personal blankets, and the pillow positioned just so it could fit them both. After a few awkward attempts at Galaren trying to rest without invading Fenris’s personal space, he finally draped his arm over his middle and was met with no complaints. Fenris hummed, and Galaren sighed.

“I like you too.”


	4. You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this // Senris

**(“You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this…” Senris.)**

\----

Fenris jumped as he leaned against the chaise in the rotunda, realizing that he had nearly fallen asleep once again that night. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, frustrated at the idea that he wasn’t sleeping well enough to stay up and spend more time with Solas, or do much of anything worthwhile past dinnertime.

He let out a short sigh and turned to look up as a shadow passed over him, dim but evident from the candle light set in the center of the room.

“If you are tired _reva’lin_ , I would prefer that you slept,” Solas told him, a gentle look on his face framed with vague amusement layered on top of mild concern. He was holding a book in his right hand, finger wedged between pages to keep his place.

Fenris shrugged mildly and, realizing Solas wanted to sit down, curled his legs up towards him to make room. “I sleep enough.”

“Your countenance suggests otherwise,” he replied, sitting down on the other cushion of the chaise and gesturing for Fenris to relax. After a moment’s hesitation, Fenris stretched his legs back out, his calves settling in the mage’s lap. Solas opened the book back up, a pencil sketch of his next mural greeting him from the inside.

Fenris craned his neck to catch a glimpse before Solas adjusted his hold to get a better grip, resulting in it being shielded from his view. Never the less, Solas continued with his train of thought, “You retire to your quarters well after dark and awake again before sunrise to train in the courtyard.”

“And?”

His eyebrows arched just slightly before he answered, “And you are tired as a result, more so than is required for what you do for the Inquisition.”

That is to say, not very much. The corner of Fenris’s mouth drew back slightly as he settled the book he was reading face down against his torso. It was doing nothing to keep him awake, but at least the conversation might keep him going. “What do you suggest?”

Solas paused in his sketching and almost imperceptibly rolled his eyes before fixing his blue stare to Fenris’s. “Sleeping,” he deadpanned, going back to his drawing.

Enjoying mildly annoying him, Fenris leaned against the back end of the chaise, resting his head against the white, patterned cushion. “You just want me to sleep more so I can be in the Fade with you.”

Solas hummed but didn’t look up from his sketch. “It appears exhaustion has made you more honest.”

Fenris grumbled and forced his eyes back open. Reclining against the chaise had not helped. “Are you suggesting I’m not?”

He cracked a smile, “I’m suggesting that you are typically more careful.” He looked over at Fenris and considered him a moment before closing the book with the pencil inside.

It took him another moment, concentrating on holding Solas’s gaze, “What?”

“I urge you to sleep, _reva’lin_. If you refuse, I will take you to bed, since you insist on acting childish,” he told him, the disapproval in his tone overpowered by amusement.

At any other time Fenris would have corrected “childish” to “stubborn” in a mildly offended tone, but this time all he could manage was to snicker.

“Thank you for proving my point,” he replied, setting the book aside and lifting Fenris’s legs gently from his lap to stand up from the chaise. Fenris withdrew them on his own and Solas huffed in amusement before standing completely. He shifted his weight as Fenris leveled a half-lidded look that would have been pensive at any other point in time but now leaned more akin to petulant.

The mage sighed, “Please.”

Fenris closed his eyes and, deciding that it would probably be best, slowly pushed his legs to sit on the floor, his body turning along after them. He anchored himself up at the edge of his seat with his arms before pushing himself to stand beside Solas, catching on to his shoulder as he steadied himself.

Solas donned a patient smile even as Fenris rolled his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, “Are you able to make it to the cellar?”

He was given a dubious look in response. “Your bed is closer.”

Solas hummed, glancing at the book and around the rotunda for a moment. Fenris blinked and was met with a dark room when he opened his eyes again, barely illuminated by the moonlight outside as Solas snuffed the candles out.

“So it is.”


	5. You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this // Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for that dark!fluff :)

**(Hannigram: "You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this.")**

\----

Hannibal had seen Will Graham at multiple levels of consciousness, some of which had occurred naturally or were induced himself. Even so, there was something particularly pleasant about his semi-conscious state at a crime scene, as his mind shifted to meld with an unknown killer, trying to fit into the shape of a “deranged” mind, even as it threatened to stain his own when he came out of it.

It was nearly trance-like, and he admired Will’s courage, from both afar and up close. He looked from Will, standing straight while rocking back and forth minutely with his body’s natural rhythm, to the body they were examining. The poor man had been utterly gutted, the ribs pulled and turned out to show off the empty cavern that remained of his belly. He had been doused in tar on the outside and he was positioned to closely resemble a stance shifting between ballet positions. Hannibal didn’t know this killer, but he was curious to see what Will would deduce about him and how he thought.

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter, for bringing him,” Jack Crawford said from beside him. “Since the angel case, I had started to worry.”

“Will knows what he is capable of,” Hannibal reassured, not taking his eyes off of his patient, “Although I am still concerned about the effect this work has on him, I think his resolve to stay should help guide him.”

Jack acknowledged him with a nod before turning to look forward as he noticed Will shudder, his slack shoulders drawing up immediately as he came back to himself. Jack stepped forward first with Hannibal close beside him, their steps echoing over the cracked cement floor of the old abandoned textile mill.

“What do you see, Will?” Hannibal asked, a strange feeling sparking in his chest as Will’s posture instantly relaxed, even if it was slightly, at the sound of his voice.

He fidgeted with putting his glasses into the front of his button up shirt before looking at the hollow cavity. “Gutless and worthless.”

Jack stiffened, “It’s the–?”

“No, it’s not the Ripper.”

“Mockery and organ removal are strong parallels to the Ripper, Will,” Jack offered but Will shook his head.

“The Chesapeake Ripper removes select organs but not all of them, not like this. And this one isn’t mocking the victim, it’s something else,” he extrapolated.

“Tarring and feathering is a known method of humiliation,” Hannibal offered, eyeing the pool of it that had dripped from the corpse after its positioning. “A means of forcing a person to correct their behavior to fit social norms.”

Will broke his gaze away to look back at Hannibal for a moment, considering his postulation.

“Could he be critiquing ballet?” Jack offered, vaguely gesturing towards the corpse. “Either the dance itself or this particular one?”

“You’re just an amateur, you don’t belong here,” Will grumbled, blue eyes turned intently back towards the body, looking back into the empty torso. He shook his head as if rejecting that statement. “He didn’t feather the body after tarring it.”

“Could’ve been interrupted after displaying him,” came Zeller’s voice from behind.

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth quirked slightly at the addition, simple and logical. Even if family was a strange concept to Will, he couldn’t deny that there was a family that he had here. He made a mental note of it.

“Is this a particular ballet position?” Jack asked, turning back to the others in the forensics team when it was clear Will didn’t have anything to contribute quite yet.

Price waved to get his attention, “He’s moving between third and fourth position. They’re basic, fundamental stances.”

“Is this a performance then?” Jack asked, looking toward Will.

After a moment he spoke. “No, we weren’t the intended audience,” Will said, taking a step to the right to look at it from a different angle, brushing past Hannibal as he walked in front of him. He didn’t flinch away, not worried about contact or too focused on what he was doing. He narrowed his eyes at the body, “He’s showing the seams.”

“Pardon?”

Hannibal stepped forward, taking shallow breaths lest the sent of decay and pitch become even more overwhelming than it already was, despite the open space. “For all the tar he used he couldn’t seal the right places.”

Will jumped off of that line of thought, “All the resin in the world couldn’t prevent his failure because he was fundamentally flawed from the beginning.”

Jack sighed, “Because he was a coward.”

“He didn’t have it in him to take the risks,” Hannibal said, trying to keep down the amusement to little avail. “But why display him in such a way?”

Will hummed in thought. “It wasn’t so much that he was a coward, but that he was just not made for it. His form was wrong, he’s showing him how he should have looked the whole time.”

“Critiquing after death, because speaking up in life would have changed nothing,” Hannibal mused. “This killer is…writing a review.”

Will scoffed, “Postmortem. Exposing the central flaw and correcting it all at once. I think he’s still learning what he wants to say.” He made a short sound and paused, gesturing for a moment to find the right word after interrupting himself, “Or, _how_ he wants to say it.”  
  
“Well let’s not give him another chance,” Jack said, raising his eyebrows before turning back to his team. “Let’s get it out of here!”  
  
As the forensics team moved in to collect the remaining evidence they could from the scene, Will sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in between his eyes, turning away from the body to exit the immediate area.  
  
Hannibal followed, coming up beside him, “Are you all right, Will?”  
  
He chuckled and reached for his glasses, hesitating and then leaving them on his shirt. “Just tired. Not sleeping so well.”  
  
Confident he’d refuse, he offered, “I could write you a prescription for a sleep aid. As well as you function with little sleep, I would prefer you well-rested when you have to examine the horrors that you do.”  
  
Will shook his head right on cue, “No, thank you.” He fished into his jacket pocket for the bottle of painkillers he carried around. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed, replacing the bottle. “I can manage,” he added, stifling a yawn.  
  
“You have me,” Hannibal offered, watching with amusement behind a mask of trusting concern.  
  
Will nodded and looked up at Hannibal, rubbing the yawn from one of his eyes, a small smile on his face before looking away again. “Yeah.”


	6. I've had a rough day... // Galenris

**(“I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with." for Galenris because I'm a greedy bastard and you need more sugar sweetness in your angsty hell :) )**

Same Modern!AU as the previous prompt, set afterward.

\----

Fenris quirked his head as the song shifted on the jukebox near the entrance of the bar, turning from some vaguely trap electronica to a smooth, experimental rendition of an old jazz number. Narrowing his eyes, he cast a suspicious look over his shoulder at the barkeep behind him.

He had his hair down this time and was leaning against a tap as amber colored beer poured into a high glass mug. He glanced from the cash register to Fenris and looked away, catching himself and doing a double take to meet his gaze again.

“Need a top off?” he asked, talking easily over the music.

Fenris glanced down at the mug as it overflowed, Galaren following his gaze and jumping away from the tap to relieve the pressure on it. He sighed and grabbed the rag in his back pocket and wiped down the outside.

“Did you queue this song?” Fenris asked, ignoring the question.

Galaren knitted his eyebrows, but he caught his smirk before he forced it back down. “Why do you ask?”

He scoffed, “The music has been shit the entire time I’ve been here, that’s why.”

“I know what you like, Fenris, but I don’t know jazz like you do,” he retorted, throwing the rag to hang on a rod and took the mug down to the opposite end of the bar.

The elf hummed and twirled the black straw in his drink around, struggling to push through the high ice in his glass. He’d had two and was thinking about getting another harder hitting mix, or maybe just go straight for some diluted whiskey. He shook his head at the idea of following mixed drinks with straight liquor. Even he had to have standards.

“So…”

He looked back to see the bartender put his hands on the bar and lean forward, rolling his shoulders. He grunted before continuing, “What song is it?”

Fenris stopped a moment and listened, trying to catch the lyrics as they floated through the speakers to the back are of the bar, listening over the rabble of the rest of the small crowd. Whenever he came it was always until late in the evening, where many would filter out before he went him. It wasn’t quite at that point yet, but it was at least past midnight.

He recognized it as Galaren ran his fingers over his scalp to pull his hair away from his face, taking a quick drink of water. “I fall in love too easily,” he answered. He started when Galaren coughed and Fenris whipped his head around to look at him. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, putting his drink down and rubbing the water off of his face. He gestured to Fen’s empty drink. “Want another?” he asked as he tried to catch his breath.

“Highball,” he said. At Galaren’s questioning look, taking the glass from him, he added, “Anything.”

As he made his way towards the wall of liquors, Fenris watched him as he set to work, dumping the ice and storing the dirty water upside down on a plastic tray to be taken to the back to be washed. He remembered the night they’d camped out in his car on the side of the road and shared each other’s space and smiled slightly, remembering how comfortable it had been. Strange since he only knew him from here, only ever associated the man with the Rift Bar, but they had certainly developed some sort of friendship. It was pleasant just to be here, and though Fenris had attributed it to the alcohol after a particularly grueling job on site, he quickly began to realize it was more the company than anything else.

He realized he’s been staring into space as Galaren approached him, copper mug in hand. He smirked at the anticipation of some variation of a moscow mule.

“Ginger’s good for your liver,” he said with his signature crooked smirk, the curve flattening out as a holler from the other side of the bar rang out. A group of college guys were pulling him away fairly consistently since they arrived about an hour ago.

Fenris watched him go, giving the back of him a once over before taking the mug in hand and taking a sip, the condensation on the copper mug ice cold against his knuckles. The pleasant mixture of ginger ale, lime, and blood orange hit his tongue and he was certain that any other bartender would be disappointing, not the least because he had a good sense of taste.

After a few minutes Galaren returned taking the rag he’d left and whipping his hands before tossing it and leaning against the bar with his forearms, carding his fingers through his hair again. It seemed to relax him.

“They won’t leave you alone,” Fenris said.

Galaren chuckled and shrugged with his hands, raising his head to meet Fenris’s gaze. “What can I say? With this face, it’s my curse to bear.”

Fenris chuckled, taking a larger gulp before putting his mug down.

He chuckled in return, the song on the jukebox changing to some pop song about dancing. “This shift can’t be over quick enough.”

Fenris made a short sound in his throat, “I’ll be here when it is.”

He was given a surprised look that quickly became anxious excitement, “Haven’t gotten enough of me yet, have you?”

The elf laughed low behind his teeth and broke eye contact for a moment, looking down at his smile then back up, “As long as you haven’t.”

He pressed his lips together and straightened up, whooping laughter resounding from the frat boys at the other end of the bar as something happened on tv that neither of them cared much for. “Never.”


	7. Well if it'll make you feel better... // Hannigram

**(Hannigram- "Well if it'll make you feel better..")**

Post S3, Murder Husband AU

\---

The slick wetness coating his hands and arms was rapidly cooling in the winter night as Will stared intensely at the haphazard wrapping job in front of him. He could still see small rivulets of blood making their way from the dirty tarp towards the nearest drain as they stood under a covered bridge, obscured by the light of moonlight. The midwest was at least good for something, it had few people, few streetlights, and was a great place to get away with murder.

Will didn’t jump when he heard foot steps come to stand beside him, recognizing his scent before hearing isstride. A hand came up to grip his shoulders and he relaxed, the uncomfortable handle of the knife in his hand no longer edging awkwardly in his grip.

Hannibal didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Will already knew what he wanted to know.

“Do you remember that Amber Alert from last week?” he said, a cloud coming from his lips as he spoke, mixing with the faint steam still rising from the warm blood coating his arms, cooling ever closer towards freezing. The disgust at seeing the news of that poor little girl being strangled and left to die by a riverbank was still fresh in his mind, and he had to suppress the urge to uncoil the tarp and further mutilate the corpse inside.

“With the suspect mother,” Hannibal replied. Will glanced back towards him, the man’s sharp dark eyes fixed on the tarp with a clear look of the disgust mirrored in Will’s intent. To betray such a deep bond, particularly one built on implied trust and unbalanced necessity gripped at Will’s guts, and he was sure Hannibal felt similarly.

His former psychiatrist made a step towards the tarp and Will’s hand bolted out to stop him, gripping a hold of his dark leather gloves and the sleeve of his wool coat, staining them with blood. Hannibal brought his other hand around to gently take his away, holding it comfortingly. Will realized he was panting for breath and made an effort to control his breathing.

“You do not need to hide your work from me, Will, nor from yourself,” Hannibal reassured, making an effort to meet his gaze. Will looked at him and nodded, relaxing his grip and letting Hannibal go.

He stepped forward and quickly unwrapped the tarp from around the body, lifting up the corner to look at the carnage. Will heard gore slide inside the tarp as it was shifted and he took a big breath, expanding his lungs to capacity before letting the air out again. Somehow knowing Hannibal had accepted it and was willing to look, out of curiosity and not just out of concern for Will’s well being, comforted him. It was a stupid fear to think he would reject him, given the other’s long history of similar violence, but their designs weren’t the same. Even so, they were complimentary at the very least.

He perked up when Hannibal hummed a sound of approval. “You removed her hands, disarming her of the weapons she used to cruelly remove an innocent life from the world.”

“A life she made,” Will replied.

Hannibal glanced up over his shoulder at him, then back down to the body, holding the covering up slightly more so he could see more of her, lower down.

Will scoffed, “I’m not Mason Verger.”

Hannibal smirked, “That you are not. Still, I was simply curious.” After a moment of contemplation, he lowered his arm to let the covering fall back, but didn’t let go. “Would you like to display her?”

He took a breath, nervousness welling up at the idea that she would be displayed, that he would elevate himself to a serial killer akin to the man in front of him. It felt wrong this time.

“No,” he answered. Then, after a moment, pulling his gaze from the blue tarp to the line of Hannibal’s arm as he held it, he said, “She doesn’t deserve it.”

Hannibal nodded but waited for him to continue.

The chill of the night finally seeped into Will’s fingers and he shook out his free hand, switching the knife over and shaking out the other. “Leave her to be found as she left her daughter.”

Hannibal hummed in slight disapproval, letting go of the corner.

Will chuckled as he came back to him, reaching to gently take the knife from his slick grip. He touched Will’s cheeks, the leather not as cold as he had anticipated it would be. He nuzzled affectionately against it before Hannibal pulled away, standing beside him to look at the tarp.

After taking a moment to finally calm his nerves, he gestured to the knife Hannibal now held. “Do you have any ideas?”

He was given a surprised look that shifted to one of warmth and a smile. “Yes, but this is your kill, Will. I would not take that credit from you.”

He grinned, some of his teeth flashing from behind his lips, “But you have ideas.”

Hannibal smiled back and didn’t deny it. Instead he said, “We might lose her hands in the current.”

The corners of Will’s eyes bunched together as he laughed. “I’ll let you decide what to do in that regard.”

Hannibal’s eyes shifted to disapproval, “Will–”

“Hannibal,” he retorted, saying each syllable clearly and concisely, the way he knew how to say it to get his attention in multiple ways, “I need your instruction.”

With an exasperated sigh, Hannibal offered a small smile and gripped the knife, approaching the tarp once more. “And in exchange?”

That caught him by surprise. “What?”

“I will not leave my imprint on your work without offering something in return,” he replied. “You are giving me a gift, Will, whether you recognize it or not.”

“A collaborative work,” he murmured, to which Hannibal responded in the affirmative. His mind straying back to Mason Verger, he snickered and Hannibal glanced back at him.

After a second, Will’s smirk turned downright mischievous, “Mason did have one good idea, if I recall.”

A moment passed before Hannibal furrowed his eyebrows and teetered on the edge of disbelieving laughter, caught completely off guard as he hesitated in stooping beside what would soon to be their collective effort, their first time giving even the slightest hint to their whereabouts or intentions since that fateful night with the dragon.

Will smirked, reveling in the unabashed glee and amusement from his partner in crime. Daring to push further, he added, “But we’ll skip the face-off and the barbecue.”

Hannibal took a breath after successfully stifling his laughter, clearing his throat as his face threatened to flush, and not just from amusement. “Please, Will, I need to concentrate.”

Deciding to save the rest of the teasing for later, Will approached him and helped lift the cover up to give Hannibal more space to work. They wouldn’t have much more time before they risked being seen despite it being so late at night, and the blood on his hands was nearly unbearable. This was an exciting night, he realized, and it wasn’t nearly over yet.


	8. I always sleep better when you’re here with me… // Lionwolf

**(“I always sleep better when you’re here with me…” Lionwolf. :') )**

\----

With a creak and mild jerk, Cullen was awake once again, gulping down the cold night air as he shivered on his bed situated on the floor above his office. His throat was raw from the dry mountain air of the past few days, but it felt closer to the tight constriction after a night of screaming. He knew that feeling well but pushed it away, burying back the memories of cold sweats and his cracked breathing in Kirkwall. He’d left that life behind, and he did not need it. He didn’t need to remember it anymore. He was no longer that sad, shell of a man he left behind there. He’d died the moment he stood up to Meredith and chose the side of justice, of protecting those he served and the people who needed it.

He sighed as he came back to himself and shifted under his sheet. He noticed his bed was empty beyond himself and rolled over with a start, only to find that the elf had been awake, possibly for sometime.

He breathed a sigh of relief, “Solas.”

The elf was situated in a chair he’d moved to be by the window overlooking the mountain range beyond Skyhold’s entrance, the sharp edges of peaks cast in dim shadows, marbled by the snow that perpetually littered them. The distant ones almost looked like flat silhouettes compared to their closer cousins.

At hearing his name, he turned to see Cullen, the moonlight hitting the mirrors in his eyes, making them light up in a way that human eyes could not. His brow arched inward, concerned. He made a move to get up but Cullen shook his head, reaching out to take his knee and stop him. The room was tiny, he hadn’t needed anymore space than was necessary for a bed and a wardrobe. Even the addition of the chair had been more out of necessity for getting out of his office, even for brief moments, but only by degrees. He could still come down if needed, after all.

Gently, but firmly, Solas stood anyway, brushing Cullen’s hand off of his leg and walked back to him, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Cullen shifted to make room for him, realizing protest was useless.

“You had another nightmare,” he murmured, reaching out to touch Cullen’s face, palm against his forehead, just in case.

“It happens on occasion,” Cullen answered, enduring the useless examination if it eased Solas, “You needn’t concern yourself.”

He retracted his hand when he was certain there was no fever and frowned.

Cullen sighed, realizing that saying that was also useless. He would worry, as he had reason to.

“It has not been long since we discussed your decision regarding lyrium,” Solas reminded him, bring his hand back to himself. “Your nightmares have worsened since then.”

“I know what I risk,” he replied and Solas shook his head.

“I am aware just as you are, but my concern is warranted regardless,” Solas replied as Cullen sighed and rolled on to his back, rubbing at his face. “You do not risk what is most important to you, but your personal risk is just as great as your duty to the Inquisition.”

Cullen knew better than to scoff, so he sat up instead, Solas having the better sense than to try and keep him supine.

The air was cold, but Cullen didn’t care so much about that right now, his broad shoulders naked to the cold air that filtered through the stone and window. “Cassandra knows what to watch for. I trust her judgement.”

“As you should. Seeker Cassandra is nothing if not loyal to her word as well as her faith in you,” he answered patiently.

“My ability to serve is what is at stake, and that is what matters,” he replied in earnest. “My personal problems, as long as they do not interfere, are less important.”

Solas narrowed his eyes for a moment, considering. “You will not lose sight of your duty, but it is easy to lose sight of oneself amidst that duty, that loyalty.” He paused for a moment, looking back out the window. “You wear your heart into battle and brandish your sword with passion the likes of which your enemies fear most. They see your faith for zealotry and your fury for wickedness to convince themselves their cause alone is worthy.”

The commander blinked, taken aback at the light Solas seemed to be casting on him. It was a bit dramatic for his tastes, but he wouldn’t deny that it was flattering, particularly from someone he deeply respected. “Solas…” he murmured, embarrassed.

The apostate turned to look at him now, his face serious but not stern. “I always respect your decisions. I would not deny you that which you have rightfully earned. I understand,” he told him with sincerity as he laid his hand over his, laying flat against the bed, “but you cannot lose yourself entirely in what is ultimately a part of you.”

He did scoff this time, dismissive. “That is not what I’m–”

“You run that risk,” he interrupted, “and while I understand why, I would not wish for you to lose yourself.”

 _Not like I did before_. Cullen sighed, turning his hand up to take hold of his, accepting that gesture of comfort. “I decided not to take it for that reason.”

Solas smiled gently, “You are leaving one duty behind to replace it with another.”

“It’s not that simple,” Cullen protested, “and you know it.”

He blinked and sighed, seeming to relent to that point.

Cullen settled into his upright position, content that their argument was over, especially over talking about this. Knowing Solas, it may come up again later, but at least it would be from a different angle and for a different reason, if it were broached again. He and Solas had never had the same discussion twice, and for that he was very grateful. He could always trust Solas to understand, even if it sometimes took time. He was not often patient, but with Solas, he knew patience was a virtue.

“Thank you,” Cullen said, breaking the silence, “for staying.” He chuckled. “I think you being here has helped me sleep.”

“I am happy to help,” he replied. “I certainly have no qualms with these arrangements.”

A more nervous chuckle escaped him this time. He ran his thumb down the crease between two of Solas’s fingers before realizing that, for all intents and purposes, he should have been the only one awake. “Why were you up?” he asked, raising his eyes to look at his face.

Solas smiled briefly, a small flicker of one ghosting over his face, and he turned to glance down at their hands, a softness in his eyes even as he broke eye contact. “Bad dreams.”

“Of the past?” Cullen asked, remembering the demon’s torment of the Circle, clawing at the hope inside of him and his will to stay sane that still haunted him despite all these years.

Solas frowned, adjusting his hand to interlace his fingers with Cullen’s as he continued to watch their hands together, changing shape, fitting together despite the callouses and war-torn skin and bones of the both of them. Then again, perhaps it was because of those scars that they fit together so well.

After a moment he answered, “The future.”


End file.
